


Conflagration

by wendymr



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-09
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2018-01-24 02:02:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1587572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymr/pseuds/wendymr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a simple house-to-house... until suddenly disaster strikes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written as commentfic on Wendymr's LJ.

Robbie’s almost back at his car when he hears the explosion.

He and James have been canvassing houses near the rec ground in Headington this morning, trying to track down a possible witness in their latest case. It would normally be a job for uniforms, but so far the house-to-house has had no success and they’d decided to try on their own. A few minutes ago, though, Robbie got a call from Innocent summoning him back to the station, and James said he’d stay a while longer, try a few more houses.

Robbie whirls around, and immediately sees flames shooting skywards a few houses down the road, in the direction where James was when he last saw the bloke. The house is completely engulfed. He’s on the phone – 999, identifying himself and summoning emergency services – as he runs back, all the time his gaze searching the area for James. James will be running to see if he can help, as well.

There’s no sign of James, though. Gone around the back, maybe. As long as he’s not taking any stupid risks...

There’s going to be no saving this house, nor anyone in it, Robbie concludes as he gets close enough to feel the intense heat of the flames. What’s important now is to get everyone out of the houses on either side. Doors are already opening and people are peering out, so he shouts and waves and orders people to get out and stay out, and wait on the other side of the road.

There’s still no sign of James.

* * *

Two hours later, firefighters have finally got the blaze under control. The house is still burning, but the fire won’t spread any further. The houses on either side have sustained damage, but it’s not irreparable – unlike the house at the centre of the fire, which will have to be demolished.

Robbie should have gone back to the station, but he hasn’t been able to leave the scene. James hasn’t appeared, and he’s tried calling the bloke’s mobile with no success. He’s telling himself there’s a simple explanation, but that’s not stopping the icy-cold feeling that’s spreading through his innards.

The lead fire officer comes over to him. “Inspector? They said you were asking for information. There’ll be a full investigation, of course, but from what we can see the fire started somewhere on the ground floor.”

“Fire?” Robbie frowns. “I heard an explosion.”

“That will have been the flashover.” 

Robbie’s eyes widens. “So... someone opened a door? And it caused a... backdraft?”

“Well, they’re not strictly the same thing, and it’s more likely to have been a flashover, but, yes, we think the front door was opened, most likely from the outside, and it caused the explosion you heard. Whoever the poor sod was who opened the door...” The officer shakes his head. “There’s no sign of a body near the door, but that wouldn’t be unusual.”

The ice-cold lump in Robbie’s gut grows. _Oh, Christ_. “Can I... is it safe to go close to the house?”

The officer looks unhappy, but agrees to escort Robbie up the driveway, at least, to a point several feet from the doorway. It turns out to be as far as he needs.

On the edge of the driveway, looking battered and a bit scorched, is a mobile phone. He bends and, with forensic gloves on, carefully picks it up. The screen’s unbroken, and he presses a key to wake it up. The phone’s looking for a password... and the user is shown as DS James Hathaway.

* * *

Robbie has no idea how long he stands there looking at the phone. Long enough for the fire officer to put an awkward hand on his arm. "Sir...listen..."

Robbie jerks his arm away.

"I think it would be best if you come back down the drive with me now," the fire officer says, clearly aware that he's on shaky ground, but also clearly aware that Robbie is in some distress.

"No," Robbie says. Why is he numb? He shouldn't be numb. He should feel something other than emptiness.

"Really, sir, if you'd just..."

"I said NO!" Robbie shouts. He turns to survey the area. "James?"

The fire officer's grip on his arm is firmer now, but Robbie struggles against it.

"James!" he calls, desperation in his voice. "I know you're there. Come out."

The fire officer is calling for assistance, but Robbie's not paying attention to that. He's searching the nearby area for any movement, any signs of life. "I won't be angry! I just need to know you're all right. Please, James!"

Now there are multiple hands on him, ready to force him back to where he won't go by request. Robbie struggles, but there are too many of them, and they're too bloody strong. "No! Let go! James!"

"Inspector Lewis!" A familiar voice cuts sharply across his protests. He turns to see Chief Superintendent Innocent standing a few feet away. Reluctantly, he walks over to her, away from where he needs to go to find James. Maybe she can make the firefighters see sense.

"What's going on?" she asks as he stops in front of her.

"James..." he begins, but has to stop. There's a lump in his throat, and he has no idea how it got there.

"Robbie?" This time her tone is softer, kinder. "What happened?"

He pushes aside the terror that's threatening to overwhelm him. "We were doing the house–to–house..." As matter–of–factly as he can, he explains. 

Her face grows strained as he finishes. "You've searched the area?"

"Not... fully, ma'am. But I've been here for over two hours and there's been no sign of him. If he was all right, he'd have reappeared by now."

"And if he were the person who opened the door..." Innocent doesn't need to continue. Her gaze drops to James's phone. Then she moves away and approaches the chief fire officer, showing her warrant card. Robbie just catches the occasional word or two of their conversation. 

He isn't paying attention until he hears "...any bodies visible so far?" 

The fire officer nods, and the lump in Robbie's throat overflows.

He doesn't hear anything else. He can't concentrate, and his eyes won't stop watering, and he doesn't know what to do. This can't be happening. It can't. James was a good bloke and a good police officer. He didn't deserve this. 

Robbie tries to walk away, though he doesn't know where he's walking, but the ground before him is so blurry that he stumbles and falls to his hands and knees. There's no point getting up now. There's no point doing anything.

"Robbie?" That's Innocent, crouched next to him.

"I tried so hard," Robbie says, barely aware of what he's saying, "but the fire still got him." He closes his eyes. "I failed…I'm sorry…"

He feels her hand on his shoulder. "It's not your fault."

"It is… you protect your partner…" He hiccups in anguish, wanting nothing more than to curl into a ball and weep. "It should've been me. Why isn't it me?"

She pats him awkwardly, apparently not sure what else to do. "You should go home."

He shakes his head. "I'm not leaving him here. Even if he's…" But he can't say it. "He's my partner. I should be here."

"Robbie." Her hand stays on his arm. "There's nothing you can do. Staying here isn't going to help you. Even if..." She takes a deep breath, and he knows he isn't going to like this – though what difference does it make? James is dead. There's nothing that can hurt more than that.

"Even if," she continues, her voice steadier, "they're able to bring the casualties out of the house in the next few hours, which is by no means guaranteed, you won't recognise him, Robbie. Laura Hobson is going to need to use DNA identification."

Oh, god. And he thought it couldn't get any worse? 

He drags himself to his feet, pulling sharply away from Innocent. He needs to stay here for James, but there are too many well–meaning, interfering people around – including, now, Laura; he can see the pathology team's vehicles pulling up.

No. He looks around, left and right, and sees a laneway a few metres to his right. He breaks into a run, ignoring Innocent calling to him to come back. He just has to get away, away from all these people, and find somewhere quiet where he can wait, alone, until the fire's fully out and everyone's back is turned. Then he can go in and look for James.

Why, _why_ hadn't he seen it sooner? Realised that James had to be in there? He'd rescued the lad from a burning house once before. He'd have done it again, of course he would. _James_...

It's a while later when he realises he's being watched. He raises his head slowly, prepared to tell the intruder to go away. The person – a man, he thinks – is standing in the shadow of someone's garden shed, and at first Robbie only gets the impression of significant height. Then the man moves forward. He's in rags, half–bald and what's left of his hair is black frizz. And... Christ, he's covered in burns, but...

"James!" He almost sobs the name, and lunges forward, reaching for the bloke.

James backs away. "I... who are you?" His voice is hoarse, barely there. And, as Robbie reaches for him again, he turns and breaks into a desperate run.

"No, wait!" Robbie is struggling to maintain some semblance of control, but it's so bloody difficult. He must look like a maniac, and sound like one too, and that won't help James. He tries to sound calm, in control. "Please… please, come back. I didn't mean to frighten you."

James doesn't make it very far before he starts wheezing and has to lean against a tree. Robbie guesses his lungs have been injured from the blast, and they probably weren't in the best nick from him smoking anyway. 

Robbie forces down everything that's been roiling through him. He has to be calm for James. James is frightened and in shock and… and pretty badly hurt. What he needs is someone calm.

"I'm sorry, lad," Robbie says quietly. "You startled me, that’s all." He pauses. "If I come closer, will you promise not to run away?"

"Don't… touch me," James rasps. "I don't want…"

Robbie holds up his hands, then places them behind his back. "All right. Promise I won't touch you." He takes a few steps, and James tenses, but he stays true to his word and doesn't run. "You look like you've been through it."

James makes a sound that, if he had more of a voice, would be a whimper. "Hurts."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Robbie says quietly. "No wonder you didn't want me to touch you."

James nods.

At closer quarters, he has a better idea of at least some of the injuries James has sustained. There's smudges of red among the black on his scalp; so, a head injury. He's holding one arm close to his side. Broken? Badly bruised? Who knows. And, through the blackened rags of clothing, more red – blood as well as burns. And the lung damage he suspects. Christ.

"You need help," he says quietly, kindly. "Will you let me phone for an ambulance?"

James looks from side to side, as if seeking an escape–route. But then he looks at Robbie again. There's terror in his eyes, but also a plea for help. "I... yes." He wheezes again.

"Okay." Slowly, he holds up his phone in his hand. "I'm going to phone now. There's going to be a lot of noise, and a lot of people, when they get here. It's probably gonna be a bit scary. But they'll be coming to help you. Stop you feeling the pain. That all right?"

James hunches over. "...yeah."

Instead of 999, Robbie phones Innocent. He averts his head a little so that James can't hear the details. She's overjoyed, but worried, when he relates his discovery, and immediately promises to send paramedics. There was an ambulance outside the house, he remembers now; it had been sent in case any of the firefighters or bystanders got injured. 

"They're coming, lad," he says then as he ends the call. "Will you let me come closer?"

Again, James tenses. Robbie doesn't move any nearer. "Thing is, I know they're gonna make you lie on a trolley and they'll put an oxygen mask over your face. That's gonna be very scary. And... you might need someone..." _A hand to hold_ , he thinks.

Slowly, James raises his head, Bloodshot eyes meet Robbie's. "Please," he whispers. "Hurts..."

"I know, lad," Robbie whispers, taking a tentative step forward. James doesn't run, doesn't move. "I wish I could stop it hurting meself. I would, you know, if I could."

James searches Robbie's face carefully, as if he is looking for something, and then he nods once, slowly, though the movement seems to hurt him. Robbie doesn't know exactly what the nod means, but he takes it as a good sign.

When the paramedics arrive, James tenses again, fingers scrabbling at the bark of the tree he's leaning against, but Robbie is almost beside James now, and he talks to him soothingly. "Those are the people I told you about, lad, coming to help you. I promise they're here to help. And I'm here, too. We all want to make it stop hurting for you." It might be Robbie's imagination, but he thinks James relaxes a bit at his words.

When the medics ask James to lie on the trolley, James looks hesitantly at Robbie, as though he's checking it's all right. Robbie nods encouragingly. "It's all right, lad. They just want to help. And I'll be right beside you, watching over you."

James tries to turn his face away from the oxygen mask – Robbie expected that – but he hasn't got enough strength to succeed. And he turns his head to look up at Robbie, making sure he's still there.

"Well done, lad," Robbie says comfortingly. "Very well done."

"Robbie." There's a hand on his shoulder. He turns to acknowledge Laura. "I heard," she says, keeping her voice low. "Amnesia?"

"Seems like it." He speaks quietly as well; he doesn't want James hearing them talking about him. But, god, James not even remembering him _hurts_ , even with the sheer relief he's still feeling that the bloke's alive. "He has a head injury, so..."

"Could be that, could be purely traumatic. They'll know more when they get him to the John Radcliffe. Robbie, Jean was wondering about next of kin."

Is that really important right now? Surely what's important is getting James where he can have the treatment he needs. Impatiently, he answers, "Don't think he's got any – but, even if he did, he doesn't know anyone. I'm the only person he seems to trust at the moment, an' that's only because I found him."

Laura's eyes are fond. "I doubt that's the only reason. All right, we'll ask at the Radcliffe, and I know Jean's getting someone to check HR's records."

Something's batting at his arm. He turns to see James's hand flailing, trying to attract his attention. Laura releases him. "He needs you, Robbie. You'll go in the ambulance with him?"

He hadn't thought about it, but – no, there's no way he's leaving the lad alone. No way at all. James needs him – and, if he's completely honest with himself, he needs to be with James. "Yeah." He rummages in his pocket and produces his car–keys. "Get someone to drive me car to the hospital, yeah?" 

Without waiting for an answer, he turns back to James. He still has three paramedics working on him, strapping his arm down, giving him injections and dressing his head–wound, but Robbie finds space to crouch beside the trolley and grip James's hand in his. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

"I gather you know who he is?" one paramedic says in a low voice. "We didn't want to dig inside what's left of his clothes to look for a wallet."

"James Hathaway," Robbie replies, equally softly. "He's me... friend," he adds. That's the most important description by far.

"I thought I heard someone say he's a copper?"

"Yeah. We both are." James tugs on his hand, and he turns his attention back to his friend. "You ready to go to hospital, man?"

James's eyes look troubled, and his grip on Robbie's hand tightens. Robbie reads the unspoken message. "I'm coming with you," he says. "Said I wouldn't leave you alone, didn't I? I'm here as long as you need me."

James's hand loosens marginally around Robbie's, and some of the worry leaves his eyes, but he still keeps a tight grip. Robbie is gentle with James's hand (he doesn't know how badly it might be burnt) but he applies enough pressure so that James knows he's there, can feel him. 

James's eyes are still asking for help. Robbie doesn't know what more he can give, but his presence and his care will have to be enough for now.

He follows James into the ambulance; James closes his eyes in pain when the wheels on the trolley are taken up so he can be set steadily in the ambulance, and Robbie gives his hand a slight squeeze. "It's all right, lad. You'll be all right. I promise you."

* * *

They only try to separate the two of them once, when they first arrive at hospital. They tell Robbie to wait outside, but James tries to pull himself from the trolley to follow Robbie, and that puts an end to that. The doctors are no fools; they see what's needed to keep James calm. Or as calm as he can be, suffering from this sort of trauma.

Robbie's never talked so much in his life, never so openly, but it seems to calm James, so he tells him all about what's happening… where they are and what they're doing, and, to the extent that he knows, what's going to happen next. And always, always, he tells James that he's here, that he's going to stay here and be with James. Wouldn't leave him for love nor money anyway, but he wants James to know that.

It seems to help James, and as Robbie's not a doctor, this is the little he can do. And he's glad to do it.

In the trauma treatment area, the medical staff keeping calling James by his name, but that seems to upset him more. Robbie's been able to stay close by, and to hold James's hand still, but he can't stay in the lad's line of sight because the team needs room to work.

After several minutes of this, one of the doctors comes to speak to Robbie. "I understand he's suffering from some form of amnesia, so not remembering his name is understandable. But we need him as calm as possible, and we'd rather not administer any more medication until we know more about what his injuries are. Can you try to reassure him?"

A nurse moves aside to make room for Robbie. Once James sees him, he grows less agitated; the relief in his eyes makes Robbie's heart twist once again. He leans in close. "Never introduced meself, did I? Me name's Robbie. An' you're James. All right?" There's a question in James's eyes. "Found your phone, didn't I?" he explains. "Had your name an' photo on it."

He took a split–second decision there not to tell James that he knows him. This isn't the time for long explanations, and he doesn't want the lad worrying about what, or how, or why, or who... time enough for all that later.

James is calmer after that, letting the medical staff treat him and responding when they address him by name. But then, suddenly, Robbie's being told that James is being taken up to the burns unit, and later he'll have an MRI and an X–Ray for his arm, and would Robbie please go to the desk and provide all James's details.

Five minutes later, James is gone and Robbie's left in the ED waiting area, feeling bereft.

Ever since he found James, Robbie hasn't had a chance to cope with everything that's happened… he's been too busy being there for James, being what James needs. Which is good, and Robbie likes having something to do, having a purpose. And there's no better purpose now than taking care of James.

But now he hasn't got that, and the enormity of everything seems to hit him at once. James is alive. James is hurt, yes, but he's alive. And he might not even know Robbie any more. Robbie is never going to forget the way James ran from him… ran from _him_. Afraid of him. What sort of state must he have been in?

If he's honest with himself, Robbie is afraid James won't ever remember him. That all the times they've had together will belong only to Robbie now.

_Then you'll make new ones_ , Robbie tells himself, irritated with himself for being so maudlin. _Whatever his troubles, he trusts you now, and he needs you, and you'd better not let anything get in the way of helping him or you're more of a fool than anyone thinks_.

And Robbie needs James. If today has made anything absolutely clear, it's that Robbie needs James. Robbie doesn't like to think where he'd be right now if James hadn't come walking out of the shadows like that.

_I just want him to be all right. But if he's not, please let it be all right for me to take care of him._

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

He's just finished taking care of all the registration information at the desk when he turns and sees Innocent. He updates her on James's situation and is about to change the subject to the other thing that's on his mind when she interrupts.

"Of course, if he were conscious and not amnesiac, I would have a bone to pick with him. What is it, Robbie, with you and James when it comes to regulations? Do you think they're a nice–to–have but can safely be ignored?"

"Ma'am?" It's the safest response, since he has no idea what she's talking about. She can't be complaining about the two of them splitting up on the house–to–house, surely?

"I checked Hathaway's records. Contrary to explicit rules, he has no next of kin listed. So just how am I supposed to contact anyone who might need to know about this, Robbie?"

"Told Laura earlier, I don't think there is anyone." Robbie rakes a hand through his hair. "He's never come out an' said it, but he doesn't talk about family. And after Crevecoeur, I got the impression that anyone there might have been isn't around any more." And that, even if they were, James wouldn't have wanted them contacted – but he's not telling Innocent that.

Innocent looks concerned. "The medical staff are going to need someone. If he's unconscious, and decisions need to be made..."

"I know. Was asked about that meself just now." He indicates the reception desk. "Told them to put me down. Closest thing he has, me, I reckon."

Innocent frowns. "But if someone else should be found, Robbie...?"

"I'll take that chance. He needs someone now, though, and who else does he have? So I'll be asking you for some leave, ma'am. You'll need to reassign our cases until further notice."

She gives him a steady look, and then nods. "A week's compassionate leave, Robbie. If you need more time, let me know and I'll see what I can do." She's about to turn away, but then stops. "Oh, and these are yours." The keys to his car. He takes them, thanking her.

After she's gone, he ponders for a moment. James is going to be up in the burns unit for several hours, and with the other things as well it'll be this evening, probably, before he'll get to see the lad. No point hanging around here wearing out shoe–leather pacing up and down. He leaves his contact information with the receptionist, then heads out to the car. The most useful thing he can do right now is pack some things for James – the lad'll need them later, and if Robbie brings some of his favourite things it might help him remember who he is. And who Robbie is, and what they are to each other. He hopes, anyway.

It's strange being in James's flat without James being there. Robbie expects James to come bustling out of the kitchen at any moment, sharing some odd titbit about Henry VIII's fifth wife or how swans mate for life or something similarly esoteric. When he sees the book left on the coffee table, spine broken at the place James must've stopped reading either last night or this morning, he has his hand out to touch it almost before he knows what he's doing. _When James held this book, he was all right. Just a little while ago._

The thought is too much for Robbie. He sinks onto the sofa, hand shaking as it rests atop the book, James's book. And James sat here, just a little while ago. No burns. No injuries. If only he could've stayed here. If only he could've stayed safe.

The tears are silent this time, and Robbie drops his head and lets them come.

When he's finished, he sniffles, producing his handkerchief and tidying his face before standing and looking through the flat. James's guitar – Robbie needs to bring that, even if James probably won't be able to play it with his injured arm. 

And there's a picture here of James and Robbie at the last police charity do Innocent arranged. Robbie looks like a toy penguin, but that's all right. Proves they know each other, and they'd had a good time that night. He might as well take the book James was reading as well… maybe one or two others from the shelves. He has no way of knowing which books James might like best, but he chooses ones that seem worn and well–loved.

Maybe he should stop at his own flat as well… bring some things of his, in case James finds those comforting.

* * *

It's well into the evening before he's finally allowed to see James again. The lad's in a private room, one of the few perks of being a copper injured on active duty – even though there's no reason at all to believe that James's injuries have anything to do with the job, other than that's the reason why he was at that house to begin with. 

Robbie's been given a more detailed account of James's injuries and treatment: mainly second–degree burns, which is serious but nothing like as bad as it could be. The head injury has the potential to be more serious, and so he's being monitored closely, but in general the expectation is that the worst damage will be concussion. His shoulder was dislocated; it's been reset and will be painful for several days, but no long–term damage. As for the amnesia, it's more likely to be related to the traumatic event than to the head injury, and no–one knows how long it will last, and how much of his memory James will regain. Assuming he does regain his memory fully, he's unlikely to have any memory of the event itself.

The potential damage to his lungs is the worst, in immediate terms. He inhaled smoke and flames at the scene, so his lungs are full of gunk other than the sort he smokes, and his throat's blistered and scarred from the heat. That'll take several days to heal, and in the meantime he's on a mix of oxygen and other things Robbie's already forgotten the name of, as well as a drip, to help sort his lungs as well as rehydrate him because of the burns.

The overall consensus, however – especially as more information trickles in from the scene of the fire – is that he's bloody lucky to be alive. The theory is that the explosion threw him some distance away, and that he hit his head when he landed. While the flames caught and burned him, being thrown actually saved his life.

Robbie pads silently into the room; he's been told that James is drifting in and out of consciousness, is heavily sedated and may not even be aware that he's here. 

He lowers himself into the chair next to James's bed and prepares for a long wait. But it's less than ten minutes before James turns his head and hazy blue eyes look at Robbie.

"You're here..." James's voice is still scratchy, and Robbie wonders why his oxygen mask isn't in place. Not been brought in yet, maybe? "Rob...bie."

"Course I am, lad." His heart jolts; James remembers?

"Good... 's hard... not knowing who... I am."

Ah. He reaches over and lightly grips James's bandaged hand where it rests on top of the sheet. "Don't worry about that now. Doesn't matter."

James's fingers curl hesitantly around his, and his eyes flutter closed.

They take care of the oxygen mask while James is sleeping, and a few other things besides. It feels like there is a constant stream of doctors and nurses, in and out of the room, constantly checking on James, monitoring this, adjusting that. Robbie considers that a good thing; James is getting the attention he needs to heal.

He never takes his hand away from James's. Doesn't want the lad to wake up without knowing where he is. Of course that's the reason. Why would it be anything else?

Robbie falls asleep sitting in the chair. All the medical staff have been notified that he's to be allowed to stay with James as much as possible, because it calms James to have him there. Robbie is glad of that; he didn't fancy battling the medical establishment. It's enough to battle Innocent about James's next of kin forms.

"Robbie…"

Robbie is awake in an instant at the sound of the deep, raspy voice. James has used his other hand to push the oxygen mask from his face, and his eyes are still a bit hazy, though clearer than before.

"That's your oxygen mask, lad," Robbie says gently. "You need that."

James shakes his head very slightly. "Need… to say…" He tries to take a deep breath and coughs a bit. "Robbie…"

Robbie gently moves the mask over James's face. "Now, lad. A couple of deep breaths of the good air. It'll help you not to cough as much."

James dutifully takes a few deep breaths, then gestures for Robbie to move the mask away. Robbie does.

"Doesn't hurt," James whispers. "Like you promised. Thank you."

Robbie can feel his expression soften, but all he says is, "Come on. Let's get this mask back on you so your lungs can heal."

James falls asleep again shortly afterwards, as does Robbie, and when he wakens again it's to see fingers of dawn light stealing in from behind the blinds, and to hear the bustle of medical staff in the hallways.

Shortly afterwards, a nurse comes in and, after acknowledging Robbie, starts checking all the equipment and drips hooked up to James, and then his pulse and respirations. "How is he?" Robbie asks. 

"As well as can be expected," is the not very informative response. She turns to look at him. "We'll be changing some of these drips in a few minutes, as well as his catheter and feeding tube. We'll need you to leave anyway, so I'd suggest you take the time to go home – shower and change and so on." Robbie's expression clearly showed how he felt about that idea, as her expression softened and she added, "Honestly, you won't be missing anything. We'll be at least an hour, and he'll be sedated again. He probably won't wake up until mid–morning at least."

Robbie allows himself to be sent home, and after a night sleeping on a hard chair it does feel good to stand in the shower for twenty minutes or so. But he wants to get back to James; every minute away has him wondering if the lad's all right, if he's anxious or scared being on his own and not having the faintest idea who he is. If he's realised that Robbie broke his promise, that he's not still beside him...

Just over an hour after leaving, he's driving back to the hospital – but when he gets to James's room he's faced with a closed door. Laura finds him there ten minutes later and refuses to take no for an answer, and five minutes after that he's in the canteen with a breakfast he doesn't want and a coffee he does – and Laura, asking him questions he's really not sure he has answers for at this point.

She starts with the easy ones – how is James, what have they told him, things like that. Robbie answers to the best of his ability; he did have a bit of sleep in the chair, so at least he can think relatively clearly.

"And how do they think he'll do?" Laura asks.

Robbie shakes his head. "Too soon to tell that." He casts an anxious look over his shoulder toward James's room.

"Robbie. Eat your breakfast or I'll give you a medical," Laura says, and Robbie suspects she's only half joking. He manages to eat a bit more than half of the food he's been given, which he thinks is fair considering he didn't want any of it.

"He's still attached to you, I take it?" Laura says.

Robbie nods. "He woke up and said he was glad to see me… because it was hard not knowing who he was…"

Laura's expression softens.

Robbie meets her eyes. "It lets me do something," he says quietly. "Helping him. Instead of just sitting being useless."

"I know," Laura says. "But if you work yourself into a frenzy, you won't be in any state to help yourself, let alone James, will you?"

Robbie mutters something begrudging under his breath about Laura being right and sips his coffee.

Remembering something then, Robbie looks over at Laura again. "What did you mean yesterday when you said that me finding James isn't the only reason he trusts me?"

Laura's expression is fondly amused. "You should have been able to work that out for yourself, Robbie."

"Wouldn't be asking if I had."

She shakes her head. "You two have the strongest bond of any pair of coppers I've ever met, and I know others, including Jean Innocent, feel the same way. There are times I've seen you anticipate what the other's going to say, or finish each other's sentences – you're as much in tune as a couple who've been married ten years or more."

He looks at her, then shakes his head. "We're just coppers who've worked out a good working relationship. Nothing special about that." Yeah, of course he and James are close. They like each other, they're mates – sort of – and they've worked hard to build the kind of understanding that makes it easier to do the job. That's all it is.

Laura raises an eyebrow. "If you say so." Then she sobers. "He was very, very lucky, of course."

"I know." He scratches an eyebrow. "What about the people inside the house? How many?"

"Two victims. I'm not in charge of the PMs, but in case James remembers enough to wonder about them, from what I've heard so far they were already dead before he opened the door."

Robbie nods; he'd wondered about that himself. "Poor sods."

"Yeah. The firefighters think the cause was probably a gas leak, but it's too soon to tell." Robbie nods again. Yes, James has been incredibly lucky. "But, Robbie, we have to be realistic about James."

"Oh?" Warily, he looks at her.

"Yes, he's doing really well so far, but that doesn't mean he'll necessarily make a full recovery. Apart from the fact that, in rare cases, people who've lost their memories due to a traumatic event never regain their memory – or have permanent gaps – there's still the matter of the burns and smoke damage in his lungs. Robbie, James may never be capable of passing the police fitness test again."

"You think I care about that?" Robbie blurts out.

Laura looks genuinely startled. "What?"

Robbie shakes his head. "That's not… I don't mean…" He sighs. "I don't want James to be hurt. I want him to recover, course I do. But whether or not he can go back to policing…" He shakes his head. "Laura, I lost him. For however long it was yesterday, I lost him. He was dead. And now he's not dead. Long as that's true, I don't give a sod whether he works as a policeman or a car park attendant."

It was true. If James was alive, the rest was all details. Robbie would rather James be fit and healthy, yes, but whether or not he could be a police officer again… that wouldn't even have occurred to Robbie. Not right now. The important thing was James, that James was all right, or as all right as he could be. 

"What will you do?" Laura asks.

"Been talking about early retirement long enough," Robbie says. "Suppose if that's what happens, if he can't come back or doesn't want to, I'll do it."

"And do what?" Laura asks.

Robbie shrugs. "Maybe get an allotment… make it stick this time. Read more. I was always telling Morse I didn't have any time to read. Got all the time in the world now." _Take care of James if he needs it. If I were retired, I could be there whenever he needs me_. But he didn't say that bit to Laura because she'd probably start talking about all that mawkish stuff about a bond that was like a marriage and had he never noticed the colour of James's eyes (he had, thanks). 

It’s loyalty, that’s all. The people that matter to you, you do your best for them. Robbie had always thought so, and had tried to live by that rule all through his life. Now was no different.

He still has to wait an hour or so before he's allowed to see James again. The lad's awake, and his face lights up as soon as he recognises Robbie. The oxygen mask's in place again, and the nurse who's still in the room tells him sternly that under no circumstances is it to be removed.

For a tall bloke, he looks almost shrunken in the bed; his head's bandaged, of course, and there are dressings on large areas of his body. His eyes are slightly less bloodshot, though. 

As Robbie sits next to the bed, James moves his hand a little in an unmistakeable request. Robbie reaches over and takes the bandaged appendage gently in his hand. 

"Sleep okay, did you?" He quickly adds, "Don't try to talk. Nod, or if that doesn't work, how about you tap on my hand once for yes, twice for no." James nods and taps Robbie's hand. "That works, all right."

James's expression tells Robbie that the lad has lots of questions, but there's nothing he can do about that for now – and he's not altogether sure that he wants to. He's been cautioned by James's doctor, and also by Laura, that giving James too much information about who he is won't help; he won't be sure whether he's remembering for himself or because people have told him. So, instead, he gives James a sympathetic look. "Give it a day or two, lad, and when that mask comes off you can talk all you want. Ask me questions, tell me to get lost, whatever. For now..." He thinks for a moment, then realises what James – the James he knows, anyway – would like.

"What if I read to you, eh?" He gets an emphatic nod and squeeze of his hand. 

He opens the bedside cabinet to find the duffel bag he put there yesterday, and pulls out the book he found on James's coffee table. Deciding to start from the beginning rather than the place where James had clearly stopped reading, he opens at the first page and begins to read...

Reading turns out to be the perfect way for Robbie and James to spend time together without James trying to talk or remove his oxygen mask. James is a patient listener, and every time Robbie glances at James's face, he can tell that James is concentrating on the story rather than simply growing tired.

Eventually, though, James does seem to tire, and when his eyelids begin to droop, Robbie sets aside the book, opened to the last page he finished.

"Time for you to get some rest," Robbie says gently.

James's eyes register mild protest at this idea, and Robbie can tell from the way his eyes move that James is struggling to stay awake. Robbie shakes his head and gives James's hand a gentle squeeze.

"I'll still be here when you wake up again," he says. "And we can read more then. But you've got to sleep and get well, so they'll take your mask off and we can have a proper conversation."

James taps Robbie's hand once, emphatically, for yes, and the unexpected vehemence makes Robbie smile. Even beneath the oxygen mask, Robbie can see James smile too.

Before he falls asleep, James pulls Robbie's hand close so he can't go anywhere. Robbie wasn't planning on going anywhere anyway… but it's nice to be needed.

Robbie does leave the room a few times during the day, all the same: to eat, to use the loo, and a couple of times when the nurses kick him out so they can do whatever they have to do. The first time James catches him out, by being awake when Robbie returns, he explains that he may have to leave here and there, but he'll always come back.

James's eyes hold an expression that's familiar to Robbie; although the lad's never actually said what he meant when he looks at Robbie like that, Robbie knows. _Promise?_

He squeezes James's hand gently. "Promise."

They chase him home at around ten o'clock, when visiting hours are long over. James looks disappointed, but Robbie leaves the book in a prominent position on the bedside cabinet, with their place marked. "I'll carry on tomorrow."

On the way home, he muses again on Laura's warning that James may never be fit to return to work, and his own lack of concern – and immediate conviction that he'll do whatever James needs him to do if that happens. He still has no hesitation about that, even down to having James stay with him if the lad needs care and support after he's discharged. If his health is even worse than Laura hinted at, if his lungs are seriously damaged and he needs oxygen therapy, for example, then he's going to need someone around. 

And it's not just a matter of there being no–one else. He wouldn't leave James to someone else. His partner, his responsibility.

He was told not to come back before ten the following morning, and it's ten on the dot when he walks into James's room. The first thing he notices is that the oxygen mask is off. "Hey! I can see more of your face!"

James, today propped a little upright, smiles at him. "Yeah." His voice still sounds rusty and wheezy, though better than it did two days ago.

"That's great. Mind, I'm not gonna let you overdo the talking. So, what?" He sits next to the bed. "Want me to carry on reading?"

"Not yet." James looks straight at him, his intelligent gaze studying him keenly. "I have... questions. Robbie, you're not just... some random bloke who... was passing. You... know me, don't you?"

Robbie knew James would have questions. He had them yesterday, and it was only the nurse and Robbie's redirection that had stopped James asking them then. Robbie doesn't know exactly how to answer… what to say… but he's a plainspoken bloke ordinarily, so the truth will have to do.

"Yes," Robbie says quietly. "I know you." He resists the urge to ask 'is that all right?'

James holds out his hand, asking another question silently, and Robbie takes it, answering.

"I thought… you must," James says.

"I've got a picture of us," Robbie says hesitantly. "Brought it in me bag. If you want to see it."

His breath catches at the way James's expression softens at the idea, and James taps his hand once to say yes, so he doesn't have to use his voice for everything. James has always been clever in everything else; it's no surprise that he's clever in this.

Robbie nods, bending down to pull out the photo. It's from the last police benefit they attended – Robbie's in a dinner jacket, as he'd been asked to emcee part of the evening, and James is in one of his work suits. "Here. Try and guess which one of us is me."

James makes a soft laughing sound in the back of his throat, and he gazes at the picture for a moment. Robbie holds his breath, waiting to see if the picture will bring back any memories… any anything.

James looks at the image of Robbie for a moment, then touches the image of his own face. "Is that what I look like?"

Robbie's heart breaks a little, but he doesn't let it show. 

"Aye, lad," he says. "That's you."

_At least, that's what you looked like two days ago. Please, lad, just don't ask what you look like now_. Oh, his hair will grow back – or mostly, Robbie thinks – and the blisters and redness will fade, but he'll never have the unblemished face he did before.

James stares at the photo for a long time. Then he turns to look at Robbie again. "I'm glad... I know you."

Robbie can't help smiling back at him. "Me too."

"Look... very formal. Some... kind of event?" Robbie nods. "We... went together?"

"Aye, we did."

He's expecting James to ask what they were doing there, or why Robbie's in a monkey suit, but instead James tilts his head a bit. "We're... partners?"

_Always my clever lad_. Even when he hasn't got his memory, doesn't remember he's gifted and near a genius, he figures things out. Even if he can't be a detective in future, he'll still have a career. Could be an analyst. Innocent certainly wouldn't want to lose him. He smiles again, and it feels fond, though that's as it should be. "Yeah. We are that."

James's expression softens, and there's a look of wonder in his eyes. He puts the photo down on the bed and reaches for Robbie's hand again – and brings it up to his lips, where he presses a dry, cracked kiss to Robbie's palm, all the while looking at Robbie with an expression that's... adoring.


	3. Chapter 3

Robbie's heart nearly stutters to a stop in his chest at the unbridled show of affection. James has never been so open with him before, and it… it touches something deep inside Robbie somewhere. He will stand between James and any trouble… any danger… if James will just keep looking at him like that.

_Partners_. The realisation hits Robbie like a blow. He said partners, and James thinks that means… oh. Oh. He should say something… he should explain, before it's too late.

But he can't tear himself away from that look in James's eyes… how soft he looks, how vulnerable. How happy. And how can he take that away from James when it clearly means so much to him? 

He doesn't exactly have to lie, does he? He was going to help James… going to be with him… going to take care of him if need be. Those are all things either type of partner might do. And Robbie knows, even as he's thinking this, that he has already lost the battle, that he's going to let James think what he thinks and not correct him, even with every chance of disastrous consequences. He just hasn't got it in him to hurt the lad when he's been hurt so much lately.

_Road to Hell_ , Robbie thinks grimly, _meet good intentions_.

James is too clever not to notice that something's going on. "Are you… all right?" he asks softly, his tone almost like a caress.

Robbie gives James a gentle smile. "You're not to worry about me," he says softly. "Just you concentrate on getting well again."

James's fingertips, the only part of his hand that's not bandaged, stroke across the back of Robbie's hand. "All right. But... can't stop me worrying... 'bout you." He coughs a little again.

Robbie helps him drink some water. "I'm fine. Better for seeing you on the mend." 

"Lucky I... have you." James's gaze is still openly affectionate. It's strange; while James has never before looked at him with such obvious emotion, the bloke's expression isn't that new. It strikes him that he's had plenty of fond looks from James over the years, and especially over the last two or three. But... well, they are fond of each other, aren't they?

And... Yeah. "I'm lucky to have you, too." He does mean that; James is without any doubt the best thing to have happened to him since coming back from the BVI. "Want me to read to you now?"

James shakes his head. "How did we... meet? How long...?" He coughs again.

"Oi. Said to take it easy." And, of course, the lad has to ask the difficult questions, the ones that would lead him deliberately, as opposed to accidentally, down the path of misrepresentation. He pulls a face, and takes refuge in the obvious escape–route. "Can't tell you anything, can I? They said it's better if you remember on your own."

James looks disappointed, but nods and gestures towards the book.

Robbie's sent away a couple of hours later so James can have lunch and have various things changed. As he gets up to go, James tugs on his hand, and Robbie looks down to see what the bloke wants. James is stretching up towards him, and the expectation in his expression is unmistakeable.

He's expecting Robbie to kiss him.

_Do you need me to list all the reasons this is a bad idea?_ Robbie's brain asks him. And the answer is no, he doesn't need a list. He's pretty sure he knows why it's a bad idea all on his own.

"I don't want to hurt you," he says hesitantly.

James shakes his head carefully, expression affectionate. "You won't hurt me."

Ordinarily Robbie would try to split the difference and go for a gentle peck on the cheek, but the burns on James's face make that more of an issue. _You're actually considering this? Why are you considering this?_

_Because he needs me. And because I_ … But he isn't going to think too closely about himself. Not now. There's so much going on in his head he's going to need a filing cabinet to sort it all out. The truth is, the way James looks at him makes him… feel things. Things a bit deeper than a working relationship would suggest.

Carefully, very carefully, Robbie bends down and gives James a soft kiss – nothing fancy or too involved, just the very basics. And oddly enough, he thinks he can feel James… relax. And Robbie feels… he feels… bloody hell, he doesn't know what he feels.

"I'll be back soon as they say I can be," Robbie says quietly. Even with the tumult going on in his mind, he still doesn't like being away from James… still wants to be back quick as he can to care for him.

James nods, that look of quiet adoration still in his eyes. "Love you."

The only thing more surprising to Robbie is what he finds himself saying… and very possibly meaning… in response to that. "I love you too."

* * *

Outside, as the fresh air hits him, Robbie leans back against the exterior wall and groans. What has he done? _Robbie Lewis, you complete imbecile, have you taken leave of your senses?_

He's taken advantage of a vulnerable individual. James is compromised in so many ways just now. He doesn't even remember who he is, let alone any facts about his life. He has no idea that Robbie is his boss. Does he even know whether he's attracted to men? 

Add to that, of course, the fact that right now James doesn't know anyone else. His entire life has boiled down to Robbie. Other than medical care, he's dependent on Robbie for everything: company, a connection with the outside world, emotional support. Of course he's going to imagine that he has feelings for Robbie. And of course it's not possible that those feelings could be real.

And what happens next? If James doesn't get his memory back today, what then? If he doesn't have it back by the time he's discharged, _then_ what? 

_How far are you prepared to go, Robbie Lewis?_

And how is James going to react when he does get his memory back? When he remembers exactly what his relationship to Robbie is, and realises how Robbie betrayed him in his vulnerability? This will destroy their working relationship – their friendship. There's no way it can't. 

What's he going to do now? 

Robbie straightens and walks slowly across to his car. There's only one thing he can do, and he has to do it as soon as possible. He has to tell James there was a misunderstanding, and set the record straight.

As it's going to be a bit before he can get back in to see James, he goes home and manages to choke down something vaguely resembling lunch (though Laura would probably twit him about its nutritional content or lack thereof).

Robbie can't stop thinking about what an awful thing he's done to James. The first bit was accidental… course it was… and then… he shouldn't have been so softhearted. He should've explained right away. Now it will hurt James even more when he finds out the truth, and that was what he was hoping to avoid. _I only wanted to help. I never meant…_ But that's no excuse, is it? There was never going to be any graceful way out of this, but the longer he waits, the worse it's going to get. 

It's already bad enough, as far as Robbie is concerned. He's a bloody fool.

Robbie goes by James's flat and picks up a few more books. That, at least, he can do for the lad. Assuming James even wants him anywhere near when he tells James the truth. Which he may not do, and Robbie will understand if that happens. _I'm sorry. I didn't mean… I'm just… sorry._

When he arrives back at the hospital, James is nearly done, and they come to fetch Robbie not long after he arrives, to tell him he can see James again. With a heavy heart, Robbie walks down the corridor to what feels like his doom.

James smiles when he sees him, and holds out his hand. Robbie takes it, sliding into his customary seat.

"James, lad," Robbie says quietly. "I've got something I need to tell you."

"Sounds... ominous." James's smile disappears.

"It's not, really – well, I don't mean it to be. It's just... I didn't deliberately mislead, but I left you earlier believing something that's not true."

James's face darkens, and he pulls his hand away. He's guessed.

"I said we're partners. That's true," Robbie continues, hating the look of bewilderment and unhappiness on James's face – knowing he put it there. "I meant – we work together. Very closely. A lot of the time it's just you an' me. But we're not just colleagues," he adds, doggedly continuing despite the closed–off expression James is now wearing. "We're best mates – have been for at least six years."

"Best mates," James echoes, his tone empty. "Why couldn't you... just have said that?"

"Because I didn't realise what you thought until after!" He forces himself to stay calm. "An' then... I didn't know what to say to you. Things sort of got away from me."

"You... kissed me." The coldness in James's voice doesn't bother Robbie; what he knows it's masking does.

"I know. And I shouldn't have. I am so sorry." Remembering what else happened then, he adds, "I didn't lie. What I said... I do. Just... not romantically, like." Which is too bloody ironic for words, because he is beginning to wonder if his feelings for James do stray in that direction. Even if they do, now is _not_ the time to raise that idea. "I never intended to mislead you – or hurt you. I–"

"I think you should go."

Robbie knew this would happen. But knowing doesn't make it any easier now it's happening.

"I will," Robbie says quietly, standing. "There's no excuse for what I did, and I know that. I don't blame you if…" _If you never want to see me again_. But he can't say it. "I'm sorry, lad. I am. I know that doesn't make it better. Nothing can make it better. But I am sorry."

James looks down at his lap and says, almost too quietly to hear, "So am I."

* * *

Robbie leaves the room, leaves the hospital entirely, and for a long time, he just sits in his car in the car park. He doesn't trust himself to drive, because he knows he'd keep playing that conversation over and over in his head instead of watching the road. He feels miserable. He should feel miserable. He did a terrible thing and now James is hurting and it's all his fault.

_He won't ever want to see me again. Not now._

But Robbie still can't seem to make himself leave the car park.

It takes a while, but common sense returns. What right does he have to be feeling sorry for himself? He's not the one lying in a hospital bed, in pain, covered in burns, not even knowing who he is or if he'll ever get his life back again. He's not alone, without a bloody soul to come and see him, or even give the appearance of caring.

_Get yourself back up there, you selfish sod._

When he walks back into James's room, the lad's staring straight up at the ceiling. Christ, the least he could've done was set James up with his iPod, couldn't he?

James looks at him, but doesn't speak, as he crosses the room to stand by the bedside.

"I know you asked me to go. But I can't. If we don't sort this now, it's gonna get harder to sort later, and I don't want that. First, because you're on your own, James – I really am all you've got. You've no family, and I _am_ your closest friend." Well, so far as he knows; James is so bloody secretive. "But it's not just that. Before this happened, you did want me here, just like I wanted to be here. Still want to be here, because you're me mate and..." 

_I care about you_ , he's about to say, but he stops. Takes a breath for a moment, and then continues. "For a few hours the other day, I thought you were dead. I'm not sure I can even tell you what that did to me. I was standing on that street in Headington staring at a burning house, thinking you were inside, an' I wanted to run in an' look for you but nobody would let me. The fire was too intense. I thought I'd lost you... an' then I saw you. I can't tell you what that meant to me, but I can tell you that I'm never gonna leave you alone again when you need me. So... I'm not leaving, James. Sorry. I can't."

James looks at Robbie, and Robbie steels himself for a cold, expressionless gaze, but instead, James's eyes are full of sadness.

"I'm still upset about what you did," James says, choosing his words very carefully.

"You have every right to be," Robbie says with a firm nod.

"But I don't really want you to go." James looks down. "Just because I was hurt doesn't mean I don't know what goes on around me. I've noticed that… that no one else has come to see me besides you. I knew I couldn't have any family or they would've been here by now. And maybe… maybe I misunderstood you on purpose, because I wanted so badly to… to have at least one person who was my family."

Robbie nods, heart aching for the lad.

"And you've been here almost all the time. Without you, I…" James shakes his head. "I like knowing that you know who I am. Even if I don't." He raises his head and looks at Robbie. "But you have to promise not to lie to me again. I need to know I can trust you… that anything you tell me is going to be the truth. About me or you or anything. I need that, Robbie."

Robbie looks James straight in the eyes and speaks from his heart. "I promise, James. No more lies. About anything."

James scrutinises his face, then nods solemnly. "All right." He sighs. "I'm glad you came back. I couldn't very well come after you."

"No, suppose not," Robbie says quietly.

"I think this means you owe me a few more chapters than usual," James says.

Robbie is so relieved that James accepted his apology that he's more than happy to comply.

Robbie reads to James for a couple of hours, until the bloke dozes off for a bit. Then he sits, just watching his friend. The redness on James's face has reduced a bit, he thinks, though it's still starkly vivid and nothing like James's usual appearance. 

But it could have been so much worse.

After a few minutes, he leaves the room and phones first Innocent and then Laura to update them. They're both concerned, of course, and want to visit James, but they're all agreed that it wouldn't be a good idea. It would confuse him by confronting him with more people who know him and whom he doesn't know, and could force his memory to return before he's physically and emotionally ready.

Though, mindful of what James said earlier, once the lad's awake again Robbie addresses that subject. "Should've told you before now – you do have other people who're concerned about you. Not family – friends and colleagues. Was talking to two of them just now." He explains about the lack of visits. "Just wanted you to know that me being your only visitor doesn't mean there aren't others who care about you."

James nods. "Thank you."

The rest of the day's quiet; Robbie reads to James, or they sit quietly together and talk a little. Robbie has to leave again at dinner–time, but he comes back after an hour and stays until nearly nine. This time, when he's leaving he gets James's iPod out and puts it within easy reach.

He stands awkwardly by the bed to say goodnight; they haven't touched since his confession and their argument earlier. "I'll be back in the morning," he promises.

James meets his gaze. "Thanks."

"Christ, don't–" he begins, then breaks off. James shouldn't thank him, but he doesn't have the right to tell the lad what he should do. "Look," he says then; he's been thinking about this all afternoon and evening. "What we talked about earlier – just because someone's not a blood relative, or not a romantic partner, that doesn't mean they can't be family. I've never told you this, and I should have: you _are_ family to me. Unlike you, I do have family of me own – son and daughter an' a grandson. You mean as much to me as any of them."

He reaches down and presses a hand lightly on James's uninjured shoulder, and leaves.

* * *

James is awake and alert the next morning when Robbie comes to visit. He's got his earbuds in his ears and is listening to something, though he removes the earbuds and gives Robbie a slight smile when Robbie sits beside the bed. "Thank you for bringing the iPod. Is it yours or mine?"

"Yours," Robbie says. So the songs haven't jogged any memories. Robbie opens his mouth to say something, then closes it again.

But James is too sharp to miss it. "What?"

"I'm not sure," Robbie says hesitantly, "but there might be some of your music on there."

James looks intrigued. "I play music? What instrument? Or do I sing?"

"You do play music. Guitar, from what I know. And…" Robbie has to stop and think. "I don't know if you sing. I've never heard you do it but that doesn't mean you don't. Just means I haven't heard you."

"But you've heard me play," James says.

Robbie nods.

James looks hopeful. "Any good?"

"Well, I think so," Robbie says with a smile.

James looks dolefully at his heavily bandaged hands. "Don't suppose I'll be doing that for a while."

"Your hands will mend soon enough," Robbie says gently.

James hesitates. "The other day… when we were…" He looks worried. "…does it bother you?"

"I'll need more of a clue than that," Robbie says.

"When you held my hand," James says quietly. "Did you do it just to be nice? Or…"

"Did it cos I wanted to," Robbie says. "Helps, does it?"

James looks relieved not to have to spell it out, and he nods. Robbie holds out his hand, and James rests his hand lightly in Robbie's, fingers curling gently around.

Robbie's not going to say this, but it helps him too.

* * *

They're not left in peace for long today. All the drips and tubes are out, and so it's time to move James's recovery on. Around mid–morning, a physiotherapist arrives for an initial assessment: to begin with, range of motion on hands, arms, neck and elsewhere on James's upper body. Then he has to get out of bed so the physio can do the same with his lower body, particularly his legs and feet.

Robbie has to smother his initial reaction when he sees James's legs. They're covered in blisters as well, and the skin looks so very tight, even despite all the treatment they've had. It's clear that even slight bending of his knees is painful. Yet the physio gets James walking – or, rather, limping very slowly and almost dragging his feet – several steps. 

It has to be done, Robbie knows and, by the look of dogged determination on his face, so does James. The physio is patient and kind, and is positive and motivating in response to James's questions about the likely extent of his recovery. But she doesn't promise that he'll have full mobility back. There's a good chance, she says, but it depends on so many things: elasticity of the skin, James's general health before the damage was done (good, of course, Robbie thinks – except for his smoking), the level of commitment he puts into his physiotherapy, and other factors which will be completely beyond his control.

And, of course, if he doesn't recover to full mobility he won't be able to do his job, quite apart from whether there's still lung damage.

"Will it help if I try walking and stretching here?" he asks. "My friend will help."

"Oh, you'll be doing that, all right. But I need to get you down to the physio department first. We'll go through some exercises there that you can do on your own, or with your friend. And then when you're discharged you'll have more exercises to do daily, and you'll have outpatient appointments twice or three times a week."

James looks glum when she's gone, and Robbie assumes it's that he's only now realising that at least some of the damage to his body could be permanent. He picks at the sheet awkwardly with his unbandaged fingertips.

Robbie reaches across and takes his hand gently, offering silent reassurance. James gives him a troubled look. "I just realised... she was talking about me going home in a day or two, and I don't even know where home is. Or how I'd manage to get here for appointments."

Robbie rolls his eyes, just a little. "Don't be daft, man. I know where you live, and I've even got the keys to your flat, as you should know given the amount of your stuff I've brought in for you. But I was thinking you should probably stay with me for a bit when you're discharged. You're going to need help, maybe more than you need surroundings that might or might not feel familiar. And how d'you think you'll get to your appointments?" With the thumb of his free hand, he jabs his chest.

"I..." James looks away, the picture of embarrassed. "It just seems like far too much to ask of anyone. I'm already being an incredible nuisance, taking up all your time. I can't keep doing it."

"James, you've got to realise, I'm doing this because I want to," Robbie says. "You're not being a nuisance. I'm choosing to be here because I want to be. If I wanted to be here less, I could do, but I don't."

"But your life," James says quietly. "Your work."

_Both of which have more to do with you than anyone else_ , Robbie thinks. "I don't have…" No, that's not the way to begin. He pauses. "I told you what it was like for me when I thought I lost you."

James nods.

"Once I knew you weren't dead… I promised meself I'd do whatever it took to help you. Whatever you needed. Don't you understand? I almost didn't get the chance. I…" A lump forms in his throat, and he waits for it to subside a bit before speaking again. "You're my friend. My family. And anything I can do for you, even if it feels like too much to you, can never feel like too much to me." It can't even feel like enough, sometimes.

James is looking at him, and there's a softness in his gaze. "You really mean it."

"I really do," Robbie says with a nod. 

"It might be difficult," James says quietly. "I might be… difficult."

"Warn me all you like," Robbie says. "You can't scare me away."

James's breath hitches in his throat, and his fingers tighten around Robbie's. "Thank you, Robbie. Thank you for… being my family."

Robbie nods. "Thank you for being mine."

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

"Come on in." Robbie leads the way into his flat; James follows, looking around curiously. Curiosity – but no sign of recognition. Just like when they were at James's own flat half an hour ago.

It's been close to a week since the fire, and there's no sign of James's memory returning. Not even minute flashes. Oh, he remembers general information, such as the boys in the band and the complete works of Cicero, and he's still got that same enormous, logical brain as before – but he doesn't remember anything about who he is or what he does.

It was interesting, if a little heartbreaking, watching James in his own flat. He'd walked around – slowly; he's still regaining full capacity in his movements as the burns heal – obviously looking at everything and deducing. He'd touched one or two books, the sofa–back, the kitchen counter, and even picked up his guitar. He'd held the guitar for a few seconds before starting to pluck out a couple of chords, and for a moment Robbie's heart had leapt. Had he remembered? But then James had shaken his head and put the guitar down.

All the same, Robbie had brought it here, along with the other things he and James had thought he'd need.

He ushers James into his bedroom, where the lad will sleep. Although James is a lot better than he was a few days ago, he's still got healing burns over a lot of his body, and he's in near–constant pain. The bed will be much better for him than the couch. James sets his things down, then frowns, looking at Robbie. "Is there another bedroom?"

Robbie shakes his head. "I'll be fine on the couch. No arguments," he adds, as James is about to protest. 

In the kitchen, Robbie makes coffee, and James prowls around the flat, again taking inventory. He touches some things, but nothing too personal; Robbie notices that he looks for a long time at the photo of Robbie and Val on the shelf, but doesn't touch it. 

When the coffee's ready, James comes over and leans against the counter. "Can I ask you something, Robbie?"

"Course." This time, he decides, he will answer James's questions properly, though he won't volunteer information James doesn't ask about. After all, he can hardly keep the bloke's life a secret from him indefinitely.

"I couldn't help noticing the photo, yet it's obvious you live alone. What happened to your wife, Robbie?"

Robbie isn't expecting that question, and it surprises him. He'd have thought James would have questions about himself, not… not about Robbie. And not about that. Because… God, James really can't remember anything if he doesn't know not to ask about this.

"Val," he says quietly to buy himself some time. "Her name was Val. She…" It's been years, but he still feels choked and helpless when he thinks about it. "She died."

James looks alarmed, as though he's done some irreparable damage. "I'm sorry."

Robbie nods slowly. "Me too. It was years ago… before you and I ever met." He looks at James. "Do you want to know what happened?"

James looks torn. Clearly he does want to know, but he's a bit afraid to ask. "If you want to tell me."

Robbie stares at the mug in his hands without really seeing it. "She was shopping in London. And a car knocked her down."

James reaches out tentatively, his fingers brushing the back of Robbie's hand. "I'm so sorry."

Robbie wishes he could open up as some people do. Maybe that would help. Maybe it would stop the dull ache he feels whenever he thinks of losing her. It isn't that he doesn't feel – sometimes it seems as though he feels too much. But all he feels is locked inside him, and nobody's got the key; even he hasn't got it. Feelings translate to deeds sometimes… hardly ever to words. James was always better at those sorts of things.

"Aye, well," Robbie says softly, feeling helpless to explain further. He brushes his own fingers against James's hand… he'd like to take his hand, but he can only do that when it's something that James seems to need. Not when it's something he needs.

"I shouldn't have asked," James says, guilt lacing his voice. "Dragging up the memories all over again – I'm sorry." 

Robbie shakes his head; he doesn't trust himself to speak right now. Yet, oddly enough, he doesn't mind that James asked. 

James moves abruptly, and he's standing closer, reaching for Robbie. There's a question in his eyes, and Robbie must have answered it the right way, or at least not answered the wrong way, for James wraps an arm around his shoulders and tugs him into a hug. It's only for a few moments and then James lets him go, but it felt good. Comforting.

"Did they get the driver?" James asks as he pulls away.

Robbie startles, then reminds himself that this James has no idea. "You found him," he says softly. "You found him and got him to confess. He's serving a five–year sentence."

James's eyes widen almost impossibly far. Then he nods slightly. "I'm glad."

They're sitting down on the couch later, and James has been quiet for a while. Then, just as Robbie's about to suggest turning on the telly, he speaks. "I've been thinking. And doing a lot of looking, and analysing, and trying and failing to remember."

"Wouldn't expect anything less from you."

"Apparently," James says dryly. "You've been very careful not to tell me things, but you did let a few clues slip here and there – and then there's a few other things I noticed. You also told me that we're partners at work – not that we work together." He frowns briefly. "This feels a bit like that old TV series... what was it called? _What's My Line?_ " His mouth tilts downwards. "Are we coppers?"

Robbie nods. "We are." And there's that detective streak in James, working out by deduction what he can't work out by memory. "I'm going to sound like a counsellor now… how do you feel about that?"

James sighs. "I don't know that I feel any way about it. I can't remember having done it." He lowers his head slightly. "It feels like a disconnect, I suppose."

Robbie waits for more, and when it doesn't come, he prompts James. "How do you mean?"

"I feel as though… there's this other person with another life who happens to look like me. I don't know how alike we are. I don't remember the things he remembers. I go to his flat and there's nothing there that seems familiar to me. He had a job I have no recollection of doing." He pauses. "Right now, I don't hear those things and think 'me.' I don't know how I feel about his life because I don't remember his life. I only remember this."

Robbie nods, casting about for the right thing to say.

But before he can, James looks at him and asks quietly, "How disappointed will you be if I never remember?"

Robbie shakes his head. "It's not about whether or not you remember. I told you before, I want you to be as well as you can, whatever that means. I don't think it does any good to blame yourself for something you can't control."

James smiles slightly. "I have the feeling I do that."

"It's been known to happen," Robbie says. "But whatever you remember, I'll still be here and I'll still be your friend. All right?"

James touches Robbie's hand briefly. "Thank you. Though... If we're police officers and we work together as partners, doesn't that mean one of us is more senior? And, since that would more likely be you, are you my boss?"

Robbie shrugs. "Yes – when we're at work. Which, in case you haven't noticed, we're not at the moment." He takes a sip of coffee. "When we're not at work, we're mates, like I told you." He gestures around the flat. "You probably spend as many evenings here as you do at your own place. You sleep here, too, sometimes, if we've had a couple of drinks."

"I see." James sounds pleased at that. "So I call you sir at work and Robbie outside, then? I wish I could remember," he adds, pulling a face.

It isn't like that, of course – but why isn't it? Why did it never occur to him to tell James to drop the formality? He avoids the question. "Wish you could too."

There's silence for a while, then James speaks again. "What about work? For you, I mean. I assume I'm on sick leave."

"Took a week's leave." Which is almost up, of course. "It won't be a problem to take another few days, and by then you won't need me around. You'll be able to drive yourself to appointments."

"And get out from under your feet and go home," James adds, and Robbie wants to protest. But that wouldn't be fair; James needs to feel that he's fully capable of looking after himself. He almost is now; his movements are still a bit constrained, but he's getting better every day. His doctor believes that there's a very good chance that the burns will heal completely within a month or so, with minimal scarring. His scalp's a different matter – there, some of the burns destroyed follicles, so hair won't grow back all over, but there are treatments for that if James wants. The only unknown at this point is the long–term impact of the heat and smoke inhalation, which will determine whether James can return to work as a detective. Assuming, of course, that he wants to.

"I'm on sick leave because of the injuries," James says abruptly, "but what about the amnesia? If I don't remember, would I even be able – or allowed – to do my job?"

Robbie considers the question. "Down the nick, they've got regulations and things saying that a police officer's got to be allowed to do work that's as close as possible to what he used to do. You'll probably need to see a counsellor there, be evaluated, and then you'll have a conversation with them about what you're able to do and what you'd like to do."

James nods. "I suppose they'll want to know how much of my training I remember."

Robbie tips his head to one side. "Not much?"

James shakes his head. "Ridiculous that I can remember poetry that has no relevance to the workplace, but nothing about my work."

"You may not be able to remember the work," Robbie says carefully, "but you'll be pleased to know that you're just as sharp as you ever were. The way you worked out that we were coppers, for instance. Not just anyone could do that. Your instincts are there, lad."

James looks flattered and pleased. "You think so?"

Robbie nods. "You could still do loads of things that would be a help, even if your job has to change a bit. And I'll support you whatever you choose to do."

"But… if they reassign me…" James hesitates, shifting uneasily in his seat. "Will I see you any more?"

"Don't see why not," Robbie says. "We get together for a drink and a chat after work a few times a week anyway. Nothing about that has to change. I can reintroduce you to some of our favourite pubs."

"You'll have to tell me what I like," James says. It's clearly meant to be a joke, but… Robbie isn't quite sure it is one.

Acting on instinct, he reaches for James's hand again, wrapping his fingers around it. James clings in return. Good – the contact still helps James. Still helps him, too. Seeing James like this, facing a possible future where he doesn't know who he is and might never be the man he was before, is heartbreaking.

And that's ignoring his own feelings about not having James as his bagman and partner any more. Damn it, he doesn't want another sergeant. If he can't have James, he'll – well, he told Laura he'd retire, but he still isn't sure he's completely ready for that. If James's injuries had been worse, if he'd needed ongoing care, then Robbie would have provided it, but now... well, if the lad does transfer to a different role, maybe Robbie could transfer with him. Or he could take a training job until he is ready to retire.

He turns to James, his own reactions under control at last. "Maybe I don't know what you like. You said earlier the other James feels like a different person to you. Maybe you won't like what he liked. Doesn't matter, though. We can find out."

"Maybe." James looks unconvinced, or maybe he's just feeling down. Hardly surprising if the reality of the situation sinking in is getting to him. James drops Robbie's hand. "Think I should go to bed, if that's all right. I'm feeling tired suddenly."

Robbie nods. "Off you go, man." The lad's only just out of hospital, after all. It'll take his body a while to adjust. "If you need anything, just shout."

James nods in response, then carefully makes his way out of the room.

* * *

As James is going to bed, Robbie thinks he might have a little kip, but sleep doesn't come.

He tells himself it's the strangeness of being on the couch, and it's true he's slept more comfortable places than this… but it isn't the couch. Not really. The truth is, he's a copper and a dad… both jobs where you solve things… fix things… make things better. He wants to do that for James, only James doesn't have a problem Robbie can solve, does he? Robbie can't give James back his memory and he can't make his pain stop or his wounds heal.

But that's not what he's most worried about. What he's most worried about at the moment is the emotional pain, which James might or might not let him see. He used to tease James about being a perfectionist, but now he can almost understand it, because he wants to be sure that he says and does the right things for James. He doesn't want to discourage him or hurt him, if he can possibly help it.

Thinking that he might not be able to help it is another thing that's got Robbie sleepless.

Above all, though, it's comforting knowing that James is in the other room… that if James needs anything, or is having difficulties, Robbie will be here to hear and to help. He admits silently to himself that he doesn't fancy the thought of James going back to his own flat in a few days, even though he knows James is a grown man and can likely take care of himself. He doesn't seem to have forgotten any of the practical things.

But he can't forget the lost way James walked round his own flat, and how for the first time, James hadn't seemed to belong there. Robbie doesn't know if it will be a good thing or a bad thing for James to stay in that place… but maybe he'd better extend an open invitation for James to drop by and spend the night any time. He thinks he has already, but sometimes with James you've got to make it absolutely explicit.

 _Enough, man_. Robbie closes his eyes, pretending he's going to be able to sleep.

* * *

James is subdued the following day, which is concerning, though not all that surprising. In response to Robbie's question, he says he's just tired, and also doing a lot of thinking. "I'm not shutting you out," he explains, correctly anticipating that Robbie would think that – after all, James has been very open with him so far. "I just want to try to make sense of things in my own head first."

That's so like the pre–amnesia James that Robbie can only smile and pat his shoulder. "Take your time, man. I'm not going anywhere."

In the early afternoon, James has an outpatient physio appointment, where he's pushed to stretch skin and muscles, and exert strength, beyond what he's done so far. He copes, though it's clearly painful at times, and James's face is pale beneath the blistering as they leave. Robbie wants to take him straight home, but as soon as they're in the car James turns to him.

"Can we go to the station?"

He's too taken aback to say anything but what first comes to mind. "What on earth for?"

"That's one of the things I've been thinking about – what we do. Where we work. I've been trying to picture it, but I just can't seem to. I wondered whether, if we went there, I might remember."

Robbie hesitates. "Maybe tomorrow? You're in pain, lad."

James shakes his head. "It's not that bad – and anyway, more walking around will help."

Against Robbie's better judgement, he drives to the nick, and the two of them walk in together. It's clear from the curious way James looks around that he remembers nothing. What's also very apparent, within a minute or two, is that he's attracting stares and whispers.

_Isn't that Hathaway?_

_Christ, what does he look like?_

_Not so handsome now, is he? Think he'll have scars?_

Furious, Robbie glares at the whisperers, taking note of each and every one. He'll deal with them later. For now, he needs to focus on James – who is staring ahead very deliberately, doing a very convincing act of not having heard. Just not convincing enough to fool Robbie. _Shit_. He should have anticipated this. He's used to the way James looks now, and he thinks nothing of it, but it should have occurred to him that others might not be inclined to hide their reactions.

He's entirely focused on what he's going to do about the malicious whisperers that Innocent's voice, from the balcony above, takes him by surprise. "Lewis! Hathaway! My office, now."

James's hand instinctively seeks out Robbie's, though after a moment James remembers where they are and moves his hand away. "Have I got us into trouble?" he whispers.

"I don't think so," Robbie says. He can't imagine what sort of lecture Innocent would give a bloke who's just beginning to recover from his injuries.

"Does she always call me Hathaway?" James whispers as they head for her office.

"Sometimes," Robbie whispers back.

"Oh, hell," is James's succinct response. He has clearly worked out that Robbie's hesitation is not entirely an indicator of good things.

But Innocent doesn't look upset when they enter her office. In fact, Robbie can't read her expression at all. James gives him a questioning look, and Robbie shrugs slightly, as if to say he doesn't know either.

Innocent looks at them. "Good afternoon, you two. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Robbie opens his mouth, not sure what he's going to say, but suddenly James plunges in. "It was my fault, ma'am. I'm sorry."

Both Robbie and Innocent give James quizzical looks. Robbie isn't sure why James is convinced that something is his fault… why would they be in trouble for coming in to the place where they work? Or is James so uncertain that he wants to be sure that, if there is blame to be had, it's laid at his feet?

"I beg your pardon?" Innocent asks politely, nonplussed.

"It's my fault. I…" James blinks once, slowly, looking faintly bewildered. "…I ordered the expedited pathology report?"

Innocent is clearly taken aback, but she recovers quickly. "Of course you didn't, James. You haven't been here since–" She breaks off then, and changes tack. "Do you know who I am?"

Robbie can see James tense up, and he'd love to take the lad's hand. Instead, he lets his arm brush against James's. Staring straight ahead, James says, "Of course. You're the senior officer in charge, ma'am."

Innocent's expression turns concerned for a moment. Then she glances at Robbie, and he recognises the more familiar irritation. "What have you been saying to him, Robbie?" Without waiting for an answer, she says, "Sit down, both of you. James, I'm Jean Innocent, Chief Superintendent. And, since I'm very familiar with the extent of your injuries, there's no need to hide the fact that you don't remember me."

James looks down at his lap. "Sorry, ma'am."

"It is good to see you up and about, though," Innocent continues. "What brings you here? You're surely not cleared for work yet?"

"No." This time, James meets Innocent's gaze. Robbie is happy to note that she shows no reaction, not even the flicker of an eyelash, to the state of his face and hair. "I asked Robbie–" He halts, gives Robbie an apologetic look, then continues, "Inspector Lewis to bring me here in the hope that another familiar environment might jog my memory."

"And it hasn't," Innocent comments. "Give it time, James. In any case, from what I understand you shouldn't even consider coming back for at least another week, and even then only part–time and for light duties. If you prefer, you could work at home initially – I know we could find some paperwork for you to do."

"So people won't have to look at me," James comments, and the sarcasm in his tone's worse than anything Robbie's ever heard from him in the seven years they've known each other.

"No," Innocent says frostily, "because your home might be a more comfortable place for you. I realise you don't remember me, James, but I'm not in the habit of giving a toss whether people like the _looks_ of anyone round the office, myself included."

James looks down. "No, ma'am." It's clear he doesn't believe her, but it's also clear that he knows he's overstepped his bounds.

Innocent is silent for a moment. "And if they should happen to need a sensitivity training seminar, I will sign everyone in this nick up for one that takes all bloody day. So just you remember that."

James looks up, frowning slightly. He hasn't got enough history with Innocent to know if she's joking or not, and he gives Robbie an apprehensive look. Robbie nods ever so slightly, and James turns his attention back to her.

"Your mental telepathy remains intact, I see," Innocent says wryly.

James tips his head to one side. "Ma'am?"

"You two have always done that," Innocent says, gesturing between the two of them. "Is there anything else I need to know about?"

"Such as what, ma'am?" Robbie asks.

"You came in to have a look around," Innocent says. "Nothing else?"

Robbie looks at James to see if there is, in fact, anything else, but James is shaking his head.

"No, ma'am," he says quietly. "I think we're done here."

James is silent for the rest of their visit and all the way home, and Robbie knows that's not a good sign. But he doesn't know what to say, and thinks that perhaps he shouldn't say anything. James will tell him when he's ready to talk.

It's not until they're back in Robbie's flat and having a cuppa that James speaks again. "I knew it hurt," he says quietly. "But I never thought about what it looked like. Whether…" He trails off, shaking his head, clearly still bothered and hurt by the attention he received round the nick.

Robbie pushes back the fury he feels again at those insensitive morons. What matters here is James. He reaches for the lad's hand and grips it, careful not to hold him so tightly that it hurts. "They're idiots. What you need to understand is... there are some people at the nick who've always been jealous of you. You're bloody good at your job, and they're older than you and still constables. Also... well, you're clever, and you don't always suffer fools gladly. Not that I have a problem with that, but some people resent it."

James just shrugs; it's evident that Robbie's comments haven't convinced him.

"Yeah, your face is a bit red and blistered – well, like the rest of you. But you already knew that. It'll fade. In a few weeks' time, you'll be close to normal."

This time, he nods. "I know. And I know it shouldn't bother me. But–" He hesitates, staring down at their joined hands. 

"What?"

"It's stupid. But I keep thinking... that maybe you feel the same way, but you're just doing a better job of hiding it." The embarrassment in James's voice tells Robbie that he shouldn't be angry that James thinks that of him. The lad needs reassurance, not criticism.

He turns to face James. "Look at me." After a moment, James looks up. "I don't care what you look like. Oh, I care that it hurts – I don't like to see you in pain. But, Christ, you could have huge scars all over your face – you could be bald – and all I'd care about is that you're alive. I almost lost you. D'you think anything else matters next to you being alive an' sitting next to me?"

James swallows, then nods. 

All right. Clearly action is going to speak louder than words here. Robbie reaches up with his free hand and cups James's face – again gently, to avoid hurting James or damaging the healing skin. 

James leans into his touch, though the doubt in his eyes doesn't entirely disappear. So Robbie shifts closer, then presses a gentle kiss against James's cheek. As he pulls back, James is staring at him, eyes wide...

…and Robbie realises he's cocked everything up.

"Sorry," he whispers. "I'm… sorry… I'm sure you don't want…" He begins to withdraw.

James covers Robbie's hand with his own, keeping it where it is. "I do, though," he whispers back. "If… if it's something you want."

"I… don't exactly know what we're talking about," Robbie confesses. "Or even if we're talking about the same thing."

James pauses. "Do we have to give it a label?" he asks. "Or a name?"

Robbie wouldn't know what name to give it. Nothing springs immediately to mind. "No, we don't."

"Then let's not," James says quietly. "Let's just say… that we want to be close to each other." He moves closer to Robbie, his motion tentative, his expression soft. "Can I hug you?"

Robbie nods. "I'd like that."

James circles his arms gently round Robbie's body, leaning against him. "Can I tell you something?"

Robbie nods, for now resisting the urge to kiss James's cheek again.

"I care more about what you think of me than about what anybody else does," James says.

Robbie thinks, but doesn't say, that the feeling is mutual. "I think well of you. You should know that by now."

James smiles. "Thank you," he whispers, "for never having been afraid to touch me."

Robbie shakes his head. "Why would I? Keep telling you, I don't care what you look like. I only care that I don't hurt you."

James rests his head against Robbie's. "I don't think you could."

 _Oh, I have, lad_. "I hope I never do again."

They stay like that for several minutes, arms wrapped around each other, and then James shifts, turning his head, and kisses Robbie's cheek. Robbie can't help himself; he moves enough to return the gesture. James's arms around him tighten. "I know it's not appropriate – you're my governor, after all – but I meant what I said when I was in hospital. I love you."

Governor? Does James remember? But a quick glance is enough to know that he doesn't. He's just a quick study, as witness his knowing to call Innocent 'ma'am'. "Told you, we're best mates too. An'... well, told you I meant it an' all." Course he loves James, even if he'd never realised it until he thought the lad was dead.

"Robbie?" James is looking at him, a plea in his eyes. "Can I...?"

Robbie frowns, questioning. "Still can't read your mind, soft lad."

James's hand shifts to his face, and one finger strokes the edge of Robbie's mouth. "Can I... kiss you? Properly?"

 _Christ, yes_. Robbie's stunned by his reaction – he really wants this? Before, in the hospital, he'd only done it so as not to disappoint James. Now, his body's telling him he wants to. Really wants to.

But he stops himself. "I..." He hesitates; they can't, but he wants to be completely clear with James as to why not. The bloke doesn't need any more bloody rejection today. "I'd like to, I would. But it wouldn't be right." He covers James's hand, still on his face, with his own. "You don't remember anything about yourself, or about our relationship. You don't even remember whether you're... gay, or bi, or whatever. For all you know, the James you were before you lost your memory, an' the James you'll be when you remember, might hate the idea. An' then where would we be? So we can't," he says, squeezing James's hand. "All right?"

"No," James says, but he doesn't look particularly bothered. "Not all right. But I'll humour you for the time being." He leans close to Robbie's ear and whispers, "I am eventually going to want that kiss, though. Whichever me I am."

Robbie closes his eyes and tries to suppress a shiver. It works. Sort of. "Right."

James kisses his ear, and bloody hell, that's… not what he was expecting. Good, though. Then James rests his head on Robbie's shoulder. "Have we never done this before? Held each other?"

"No," Robbie says quietly.

James makes a sound of surprise. "I'm glad we can now."

Robbie's arms tighten involuntarily round James, and again, he is reminded of what he almost lost. What he nearly lost without having had. The idea is unbearable now.

"Yeah," Robbie answers in a rough whisper. "So am I."

James hums… and, granted, Robbie has never held him before, but he's never felt or seen James so… relaxed. There's no tension, no stiffness, no discomfort that Robbie can see. James is comfortable here, and Robbie finds that more flattering and more wonderful than all the kisses in the world. James is at home. With him. It's a wonder.

Maybe as much of a wonder as that Robbie feels just as at home with James.

It's just a shame that it took the lad almost dying, and ending up like this – damaged, in pain, possibly facing the loss of his career – for Robbie to realise just how much James means to him. That being with James like this is filling a gap in his life he's had for a long time, and that he'd given up hoping he could fill.

He'd tried with Laura, after all, and they'd both decided in the end that it wasn't right for them. They were still the best of friends and always would be, Robbie hoped, but this kind of closeness, with or without romance, didn't work.

The rest of the evening is, Robbie hopes, the way things might be for them from now on. He and James cook dinner together and eat at the table – no alcohol because of James's medication – and then relax on the couch watching TV. James leans against his shoulder most of the time, with Robbie's arm around him; later, James encourages Robbie to lie on the sofa with his head on James's lap. James's fingers comb through his hair, and he feels more cared for than he has in a very long time.

And, when James gets up to go to bed, they hug each other goodnight.

* * *

Robbie's up before James in the morning, and he potters around the kitchen, putting the kettle on and getting coffee ready. He'll surprise James with a cup in bed.

Too late, though; he hears James's shuffling steps in the hallway. Robbie turns in time to greet his friend as James comes through the door. "Morning, soft lad. Ready for breakfast?"

"Good morning, sir. It was very kind of you to let me stay the night – though you shouldn't have given up your bed."

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

Robbie feels his stomach lurch. It's the 'sir' that gives it away; James has been calling him Robbie ever since his accident. He hasn't remembered to call him sir… he even mistakenly called him Robbie in front of Innocent, which the lad would be quite horrified to know, probably.

"James," Robbie says softly, "d'you remember what we say when we're getting ready to bring someone in?"

James gives him a quizzical look. "Of course. We charge them and then tell them they don't have to say anything, but that if… are you all right, sir?"

No. He's bloody not all right. But he can't let James know that. It's just like Laura said might happen. James remembers before the accident… but not after.

"I don't want you to panic, lad," Robbie says softly.

James pulls a face. "No good conversation ever began that way."

"You were in an accident a little more than a week ago," Robbie says. "You were… badly burnt." He gestures James into the hallway, into the bathroom, where James can see the evidence of what happened to him.

"Fuck!" James blurts upon catching sight of himself in the bathroom mirror, and for a moment, all he can do is stare at his reflection. He glances at Robbie, forehead setting in worried lines. "But… I'm all right, aren't I? I'm going to be all right?"

"You're going to be fine," Robbie says reassuringly. "You've got physio appointments… they're going well… and…"

James shakes his head, panicked. "But I can't have… I don't remember. None of it is… you said it's been a week. Where have I been?"

"You've had sort of temporary amnesia," Robbie says. "You didn't remember anything before the accident."

James looks at Robbie. "I didn't do… anything embarrassing. Did I?"

Robbie thinks it's very possible that his heart is breaking. But he tucks his own pain away to deal with on his own, and gives James a reassuring smile.

"No," he says softly. "Not at all."

James swallows, looking awkward. "I think I need to sit down, sir."

Robbie lays his hand on James's shoulder again. "Come on." He leads the way back to the kitchen, then makes James sit at the table. "Coffee? Or maybe some sweet tea, for shock?"

"Coffee." James is staring at his hands, at the red and peeling skin everywhere, and swallowing again.

Robbie brings their coffee over and sits opposite James. "I know you have more questions. First, though... you've been calling me Robbie ever since the accident. Think you can still do that?" At James's surprised frown, Robbie adds, "I'd prefer it, man. We're neither of us working at the moment – we're on leave," he explains at the instant widening of James's eyes. "Feels odd to have you call me sir in the circumstances."

"If you prefer... Robbie." James stares down into his coffee for a long moment, then glances up again. "Why am I staying at your flat? I am, I take it?"

"Yeah. It made most sense. You've only been out of hospital less than two days, and you're in pain still, and you've got outpatient appointments three times a week. You're not safe driving, not with the mobility issues you still have in your hands and legs." He gives James a concerned look. "You're all right with bein' here, wi' me?"

"Of course, si– I mean, Robbie. I – it's very kind and generous of you. I just hate the thought that I've been an inconvenience."

Christ, how could he think that? "Don't be ridiculous, man! If anything, it's nicer with you here." Robbie hesitates, then decides he has to say this. "When the accident happened... I thought you were dead, man. I... I'm crap at saying this." It's his turn to swallow. "Told you this before – it made me realise how important you are to me, James." And could he have made a worse job of that?

"Robbie..." James is playing with his mug. "I... don't know what to say."

Robbie feels as though he's got a knife in his gut and it just keeps twisting and twisting. Everything that's sprung up between them in the time since the accident… that delicate balance of give and take and tentative trust and closeness… all gone, brushed aside as though it had never existed. Because for James, it hasn't. 

Robbie knows he should be happy that James has his memories back… and he is happy that James has got himself back. He knows James was feeling lost and adrift without his memories, and at least that feeling's gone now. But, as Robbie has just proved, it's not easy for him to open up to anyone even once, let alone twice. And he thinks he did it better the first time… the time James can't remember.

"You don't have to say anything," Robbie says. "Just thought it was important that I tell you."

James looks at Robbie for a long moment. "You _were_ worried, weren't you?"

Robbie nods, not trusting himself to say anything lest he give himself away.

As if by itself, James's hand begins to reach for Robbie, and Robbie holds his breath… but then James gives a little shake of his head and pulls his hand back.

"You're not an inconvenience," Robbie says firmly. "I don't ever want you to think that."

James gives Robbie another long look. Then he nods. "Thank you."

So civil. So polite. Robbie hadn't realised how much more open amnesiac James had been until now. "You're all right."

James excuses himself shortly afterwards to shower and dress. Robbie rinses their mugs and tries not to feel sorry that James has regained his memory. How could he possibly be so selfish as to wish that he'd stayed the way he was over the last week? That wasn't James, or, at least, it had only been a part of the James he knows and cares about. The James he has in his flat now may not be as... cuddly, perhaps... as the bloke he had in his arms last night, but he's still _James_ , the man he's worked beside for seven years, the man he loves.

* * *

Later, James wants to see the doctor who treated him, which of course makes sense: he remembers nothing of what he was told. Robbie takes him to the John Radcliffe, and they wait together until the doctor has a few minutes to talk. James is making an effort to be more talkative, but it clearly _is_ an effort. After a while, Robbie just pats his arm lightly. "You don't have to make conversation if you don't feel like it, man."

James looks at him, his expression unhappy. "I feel as if I'm being so ungrateful. It's just... I'm still trying to wrap my brain around missing an entire week of my life, and waking up like _this_."

"You're all right," Robbie assures him. "Of course I know it's a shock. You know I'll tell you anything you want to know."

James nods. "Later, if you don't mind."

When the doctor's available, James doesn't ask Robbie to come in with him. When he re–emerges, he's looking determined, as well as a bit relieved. "Home?" Robbie asks.

The lad frowns. "Well, yes, but I'd need to go to yours first to pick up my things." 

Robbie shakes his head. "I meant my home." And the other James would have known that... _Stop it. This_ is _James_.

In the car, James is quiet and appears to have something on his mind. They're almost home when he finally speaks. 

"I asked about the amnesia. She said..." He pauses, glancing sideways at Robbie. "She said I may never remember this last week."

Robbie knew that was a possibility, but that doesn't make it hurt any less. He doesn't show any of that, however. He simply nods.

James waits until they're back in the flat to continue his inquiries. "I need to know what's missing. In case I never get it back." He pauses. "What happened?"

Robbie tells him about the accident… about how everyone thought he was dead at first, about how it was sheer luck that he'd found James… how James had tried to run away from him but had eventually slowly come to trust him, to understand that Robbie meant to help. 

"That must have been a nightmare for you," James says, looking stunned.

Robbie opens his mouth to say something, and instead finds himself on the verge of tears. He wants to take James's hand, but James won't understand why he's doing that, and that just makes him want to cry all the more. He takes a deep breath to get himself under control, and then he feels James's hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," James says softly. "I don't remember, but I'm sorry."

Robbie moves his hand to rest atop James's with the hope that James won't pull away from his touch. He doesn't. "Nothing to be sorry for. You couldn't help it." He manages a smile. "You worked out a lot of things just using that brain of yours, even though you couldn't remember. You worked out that we knew each other, though I had to tell you our names. You worked out that we were police officers, though you couldn't remember doing that either." He pauses. "Most of the time, you've been in hospital. I'd come in, see how you were doing. Read to you."

James looks slightly wistful. "That must've been nice. I wish I could remember that."

So does Robbie. "Brought you home a few days ago. We went to your flat and down the nick… you were trying so hard to remember. At the time nothing seemed to work, but who knows… maybe something we did brought your memories back." He pauses. "You were so worried about your memories being lost forever, James… so afraid they might be. I'm glad that didn't happen."

James doesn't reply; instead, he studies Robbie closely. After a long moment, he says carefully, "I don't know what it was like for you, though I can work some things out from what you've said. But I do know how I would have felt if you'd been the one hurt like I've been, and the one not to remember anything. I... think... I would have sat with you around the clock at first, if I was allowed. And I wouldn't have wanted to let you out of my sight."

There's a lump in Robbie's throat again. All he says is, "Yeah."

"The doctor said I'm so very lucky to have a friend like you," James continues. "That you were there all the time, and you reassured me every time I was worried that I wouldn't get better, or that I'd never be able to do normal things again." He pauses, looking at Robbie; Robbie still can't seem to find the words to answer. After a while, James continues, "I realised I shouldn't be surprised. That that's just the person you are: kind, thoughtful and caring. You look after the people you feel responsible for."

Is that what James thinks? No; Robbie definitely has to set him straight on this one. "No, bonny lad. I look after the people I consider family." He swallows again. "If this'd been years ago, when we didn't know each other very well, I'd still have come an' visited – once a day, at least, if I knew you'd no–one else. It's different now. We're different now."

James nods. "That's what you meant earlier. When you said I'm important to you."

"Yeah. He squeezes James's hand, then withdraws his. "I'm crap at saying that sort of stuff. You... well. Losing you would've been like losing Val all over again, or losing Lyn."

James takes his hand off Robbie's shoulder, leaving him feeling cold and heartsick again. But this time he reaches for Robbie's hand, where it's lying on Robbie's lap. He curls his fingers around Robbie's palm, and rubs his thumb across the back of Robbie's hand. Robbie turns his hand over so that they're holding each other palm to palm.

And then James's eyes widen. "I can't help thinking... Robbie, have we done this before?"

Robbie's heart feels as if it jumps in his chest. Robbie. He called him Robbie with no fuss, no struggle. Please let that mean what he hopes it means. Oh, please. "Yes," he whispers.

James stares at their hands. "More than once?"

Robbie nods. "Yes."

"With bandages and without," James murmurs, and Robbie can't tell if James is talking to him or to himself. He lifts his gaze from their hands. "It helped, didn't it? When I was… in pain, or worried."

Robbie nods again. _Oh, please, let him remember. Let him remember just a bit._

"It's strange," James whispers. "When I got up this morning, and I saw you for the first time… I wanted to hold your hand and I didn't know why."

"Did you?" Robbie means the words to be calm, level, but they are anything but. They are urgent, almost needy.

James looks more closely at Robbie, startled by his vehemence. His other hand, the hand that isn't holding Robbie's, rises tentatively, and James is visibly struggling with himself for a few moments about whether or not he should touch Robbie.

"That wasn't the only way we touched," James whispers. "Was it?"

Robbie shakes his head, hoping his expression is open enough, welcoming enough, that James knows it is all right.

James reaches out, transfixed, fingertips resting lightly against Robbie's cheek. "Hello," he whispers, almost in wonder.

"Hello," Robbie whispers back.

James continues to look at him, eyes wide, his hand trembling slightly where it rests against Robbie's face. "I'm not sure... It all feels like a dream, and I'm afraid of getting it wrong."

"You're not getting anything wrong so far, bonny lad." Robbie extends his free arm in invitation, and James curls up against him. Robbie hears a sigh, which sounds like relief.

It feels as if they're back to where they were yesterday, but Robbie's taking no chances. This is James with full memories: of his past, of their shared past, and his own hopes and ambitions. And Robbie doesn't know yet whether this James wants the same thing that the other James said he did.

So he just focuses on providing comfort and closeness, and hopes that James will understand that, if he wants more than that, he only has to ask.

A little later, James shifts enough to look at Robbie. "You never minded looking at me. Or touching me. I remember that."

"Course I didn't. You were still James. Are still. The rest... it just didn't matter."

James leans in and presses a kiss against Robbie's cheek. "Did I do this, too?"

"You did. An' so did I." He turns his head and kisses James back.

The lad looks at him again, and Robbie can almost hear his massive brain whirring. "I love you. I said that, I think." It's a question – but James isn't looking for confirmation that he said the words. He wants to know if it's all right – and his hopes are all there, vivid, in his eyes.

Robbie smiles fondly at James. "You did. And I said I felt the same, but I didn't say the words exactly." He pauses, gathering his courage. "I'll say them now if you like."

The hope is stronger in James's eyes now, and his whole face is almost shining with delight. "Please."

It's been a long time since Robbie's said the phrase to someone else and meant it this way. Feels a bit momentous and that. "I love you."

And there's that look of adoration in James's eyes again, except it's a fuller emotion this time, because it's all of James now, the sum of all his experiences and memories leading to this moment. It's beautiful. Robbie has no words.

"And I think," James says, a glint of mischief in his eyes, "that I tried to kiss you and you said no."

Robbie flushes a bit. "Might seem a bit daft to you," he says, "but I didn't want to take advantage. I wanted to know that… that it wasn't just the situation. That if you kissed me properly… it was because you knew what you were doing. Not just that you were grateful for the past week."

James looks touched by the thought. "That's… thank you." He shakes his head. "I can't imagine anyone else thinking of that."

"No," Robbie says, mock-ruefully. "Just me."

James moves closer to him. "I know what I'm doing now."

Robbie nods, heart thumping a bit inside him. "So you do."

"And I did tell you I'd want to kiss you properly at some point."

"You did." 

"So I'll ask again," James whispers, his face only inches from Robbie's now. "Robbie… may I kiss you properly?"

"Yeah," Robbie whispers.

That's all the encouragement James needs. Their eyes close and their lips meet.

It was worth the wait.

* * *


End file.
